


Shook Down on Me, the Dust of Snow

by Thymesis



Series: Star Wars Rare Pairs Collection (NC-17) [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Biology, Dex and Obi-Wan Are Adorable Together, First Time, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mating Rituals, Pheromones, Rare Pairing, Virginity, Xenophilia, pre-TPM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: While on a diplomatic mission to the frozen planet of Ojom, Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi makes an unexpected Besalisk friend.Please note: This story features weird human-besalisk sex. You’ve officially been warned! ;-)





	1. Dex

**Author's Note:**

> The _only_ time Obi-Wan is ever actually happy in AOTC is when he’s chatting with Dex. And remember that big, back-slapping hug? So why can’t I find any Obi-Wan/Dex slash fanfiction anywhere on the Internet?! There wasn’t even a tag for it on AO3!! Although fanfic writers [were](http://members.iinet.net.au/~tentacles/tpm/revaotc.html) [discussing](http://www.trickster.org/symposium/coltopic.html#fssw) the pairing back in 2002, their interest, it seems, never went any further. This tragic shortage needs to be rectified, stat.
> 
> The title of this story is from the poem “Dust of Snow” by Robert Frost:
> 
> The way a crow  
> Shook down on me  
> The dust of snow  
> From a hemlock tree
> 
> Has given my heart  
> A change of mood  
> And saved some part  
> Of a day I had rued

“It’s going to snow today.”

“Not interested,” Dex mumbled into his throat sac.

“Was that supposed to be actual words, or did you just burp?” His great uncle Riffler sidled into the kitchen and, with a rumbling groan, plopped his bulky body down on top of an unopened crate of frozen bekfish. Both pairs of arms were crossed tightly over his chest. The elderly Besalisk was clearly in a confrontational mood.

“I said I ain’t interested,” Dex repeated, louder, as he opened the oven hatch to check on the bread. Hmm. Almost done. He smiled to himself and closed the hatch gently.

“This is the first snow in over a year. It’s an opportunity you shouldn’t be passing up,” Riff said.

Dex ignored him and returned to the carving board. Wielding his favorite vibroknife with practiced ease, he finished cubing a generous mound of fresh tarl meat and blubber.

“Look,” Riff pressed on, undeterred. “You’ve been a great help to me here, what with Mav passing and all, but you can’t stay on forever. And you’re not getting any younger, Dex. Isn’t time you considered settling down with a nice local girl and incubating a few eggs?”

“I’m not the nesting kind, Uncle Riff,” Dex replied peevishly. The mound of tarl cubes went tumbling into a manual grinder with a wet plop. Aggressively, he began to crank the lever. He might not be able to take his frustrations out on his widower great uncle directly, but the squiggles of tarl being extruded from the grinder would be smoother than shimmersilk, dammit!

Problem was, Dexter Jettster wasn’t being entirely truthful. Besalisks took a single mate for life, and Dex yearned for romance and chicklings to dangle on his knee as much as the next guy. But after five disastrous years of prospecting for aurodium beyond the Outer Rim, he was flat broke. He’d returned to Ojom defeated and demoralized…and fortunate, at least, given the frightful subterranean working conditions of the average aurodium mine, to have his health and all of his limbs intact.

For the past three lunar cycles, he’d been working at Riff’s guest house, cooking and cleaning and taking care of all the other odd jobs that had once been the purview of his dearly departed great aunt Mavera. Unfortunately, this part of Ojom was remote, and business was very slow; they only had two lodgers at the moment, which was two more than usual. So although he’d been doing his best to save credits—yes, it hurt his pride grievously to admit it—he had hardly anything to offer a potential mate.

As such, he had absolutely no intention whatsoever of participating in the snow song.

Dex checked the oven again. _Now_ the bread was done. With his bare hand, armored as it was with tough scales impervious to the heat, he removed four perfectly round sourdough rolls and placed them on the counter to cool. (That hand was clean and had not touched the raw tarl. It would not do to contaminate the bread!)

Riff sniffed the air with appreciation and seemed to lose his train of thought. Maybe the uncomfortable discussion of Dex’s personal affairs was over. One could hope.

Dex shaped the ground tarl into two identically-sized patties and tossed them onto the hot griddle. They immediately began to sizzle and smoke, adding their savory aroma to the piquant fragrance of sourdough. He flipped each one over several times with a spatula, careful to ensure that they would brown evenly.

“Why don’t you let the girls decide the worth of your singing— What in Goddess’s name are you _doing_?” It seemed that Riff had finally deigned to take notice of the strange food being prepared in his kitchen.

“Umm, hold on…” Dex sliced a roll open and placed one of the meat patties on the bottom half of the loaf. He did the same with a second roll and meat patty. Then, on top of each meat patty, he placed a thick slice of pickled shuura fruit and two crisp algae leaves. Last but not least, the top halves of the loaves went, well, on top.

“Burgers,” he announced, transferring the finished products onto a tray and displaying them with a flourish before his great uncle. “Aren’t they magnificent?” Dex couldn’t help it; he was beaming.

“ _Burgers?!_ ” Riff echoed, baffled.

***

Their lodgers were already seated in the dining room when Dex emerged from the kitchen to serve them their midday meal.

The smaller, younger of the pair grew palpably excited when he saw what Dex had put in front of them. “Oh wow, burgers?!” He dug in ravenously. “This is amazing!!” he enthused between bites, mouth full to bursting.

His bigger, older companion ate in a calmer, more measured fashion, but he too was generous in his praise. “Indeed. The food is delicious as always, Dex, and you do us great honor in your willingness to accommodate my youthful Padawan’s…” he hesitated, seemingly seeking a diplomatic turn of phrase, “ _discerning_ palate.”

Dex deflected the compliment with an awkward shrug, secretly pleased with his culinary success. He brought three tall glasses of salt soda to the table and pulled up a chair to join the two lodgers. Besalisks were a gregarious species by nature that never stood on formality for long. “It’s the least I could do. Besides,” he added, “it’s not every day we get Jedi around these parts.”

To say the least. Dex hadn’t the slightest idea what the Jedi were doing at the Jettster commune, but they’d been doing it for two tendays thus far. Apparently they had come at the express invitation of the Matriarch.

“You could totally open a restaurant, you know,” the younger Jedi—Obi-Wan Kenobi, he called himself—said. “These’d be a hit on Coruscant.”

“I agree. You do have exceptional talent,” his Master concurred. What was his name again? Jinn? Qui-Gon Jinn? Yes, that was it…

“Too bad I’ve got all four hands full here on Ojom already.” Dex chuckled and rubbed the top of Obi-Wan’s head affectionately. He liked feeling the deceptive softness of that spiky red human hair, and Obi-Wan, Dex thought, seemed to enjoy being touched in turn.

Qui-Gon, who had already finished his burger, took one fast swig of soda before pushing his chair back and rising. He was so tall on his feet that he had to stoop when indoors. “I hope you’ll forgive my haste,” he said to Dex, “but I have an interim report to file with the Jedi High Council and, therefore, must reach the Salrer Orbital Station ahead of the snowstorm.”

“No worries,” Dex replied. “But you do realize that if the storm front rolls in and you’re still up there, you won’t be able to return until tomorrow at the earliest?”

“Yes. That’s why Obi-Wan shall remain here. Absent any further instruction from the Matriarch, may I trust you to keep him out of trouble?”

“Oh, I’m sure we can find _something_ to keep him occupied. That all right with you, little buddy?” Dex winked at Obi-Wan when Qui-Gon wasn’t looking.

Obi-Wan kept his gaze fixed determinedly on his soda glass, but his cheeks were tinged a delicate, enchanting shade of pink.


	2. Obi-Wan

Qui-Gon had gone, leaving Obi-Wan at the table with only Dex and a half-eaten burger to keep him company.

Were he asked, Obi-Wan would not have been able to say which state of affairs pleased him more.

His first meal on Ojom had been a much beloved Besalisk staple: fermented tarl meat marinated in bekfish bonemeal brine. The smell, never mind the taste, was…indescribable. Somehow, Qui-Gon had managed his helping like any other bland but nutritious Temple dining hall meal. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, had taken one bite and barely made it out of the dining room before vomiting all over his own Jedi robe and passing out cold.

Needless to say, the guest house proprietors had been horrified, and Dex had taken it upon himself to serve up meals that Obi-Wan’s poor, sensitive stomach could tolerate. This was no easy task; Ojom was not a bountiful planet, and imported offworld foodstuffs were scarce. Yet Dex had gone well above and beyond the call of hospitable duty, and every meal since the first had been more delicious than the last.

And Dex himself, besides being a miracle worker in the kitchen, fascinated Obi-Wan. Way back when he was a youngling, Obi-Wan had thought seeing the galaxy would be exciting. The reality, several years on as Qui-Gon’s apprentice, had been rather different: boring meetings, interminable ceremonies, staid social gatherings. Their lightsabers might as well be for show. Dex, though, had had the spacefaring life of romantic roguishness and death-defying adventure that Obi-Wan used to fantasize about—and he was always happy to reminisce for his captivated young audience of one.

“So,” Obi-Wan began, not even attempting to conceal his eagerness, “you promised to tell me about the time you blew the deep cover of a Bothan spymaster…”

“Yes indeed, I did.” Dex settled more comfortably into his chair and took a leisurely sip of salt soda.

Obi-Wan felt himself grinning and leaning forward with anticipation. Dex was entertaining _and_ informative. What could be better?

“Well, as you probably know,” Dex continued, “aurodium is the currency of choice on the black market because the process of separating the metal from the ore eliminates any trace—”

“Dex—! It’s snowing!” Riff’s shout from another room interrupted Dex in the middle of his sentence.

“That’s nice,” Dex shouted back.

“Aren’t you going to go sing?”

“I told you— _no_!”

Obi-Wan and Dex waited in silence for a moment, but no further shouted words seemed forthcoming.

“What does he mean by ‘sing’?” Obi-Wan asked. He tried to imagine the bulky Besalisk breaking out into song; it was a rather comedic image.

But Dex merely shrugged tiredly, lack of interest apparent. “The commune’s unmated males assemble at the lekking arena to sing for the ladies whenever it snows,” he explained.

“Ooohhh!” Obi-Wan had read about this in the briefing he’d been given ahead of their mission to Ojom. Besalisk singletons supposedly gather together in dedicated lekking arenas in order to identify and court future life mates. The briefing had lacked specificity, though, perhaps because so few offworlders ever visited Ojom. Obi-Wan also suspected the extreme rarity, not to mention unpredictability, of suitable weather was a second culprit. Certainly there had been nothing about snow or singing.

“I wish I could hear it,” Obi-Wan said wistfully. It would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and maybe he’d be permitted to submit a report of his findings to the Jedi Archive! Such a report could come in mighty useful if he and Qui-Gon succeeded in normalizing diplomatic relations between the Jettster commune and the Republic…

“They will have started already. Why don’t you go?” Dex suggested.

“The Matriarch hasn’t made a final decision on her negotiating position. I have to stay here to receive her offer when it comes,” he said regretfully. Stars above, sometimes Obi-Wan hated how duty always had to come first. He took another bite of his burger to conceal his disappointment.

“Won’t be no commune business conducted today. The Matriarch will be overseeing the snow song. You’ve got the day off, little buddy; you can do what you like!” Dex ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair with an almost unseemly excess of a good cheer.

“But…” Obi-Wan felt suddenly hesitant. “Surely an offworlder like myself would not be welcome at such a private affair…?”

“ ‘Private affair’…? You’re joking, right?” Dex slapped his belly and guffawed. “You’re a guest of the Matriarch herself; you would honor the commune with your presence at the lek,” he added more seriously.

Obi-Wan was still a bit unsure. “Maybe if I had your company—”

“DEX!!” It was Riff again, and this time, he was positively bellowing.

“WHAT??!!” Dex more than matched him in volume.

“If you ain’t gonna sing, get your lazy ass outside and shovel!”

“All right, already—I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Dex rubbed his throat sac apologetically as he got up from the table. “It’ll be fine,” he assured Obi-Wan over one shoulder as he hurried toward the guest house’s front reception area. “Go have fun.”

***

In the end, Obi-Wan decided to go alone. Bundled into several additional layers of thick, winter robes, he set out in the direction of the lekking arena.

Ojom was one of the galaxy’s oldest worlds, sun wan and distant, rocky landmass the driest and harshest of deserts. It was a wonder, truly, that life here continued to find a way at all, especially this far from the sea ice. But what struck Obi-Wan most forcefully about Ojom as he walked was the absolute stillness of its always-frigid air—not a barest breath of wind disturbed the snowflakes now drifting down as slowly as feathers to the ground.

The singing could be heard from over half a kilometer away, but it wasn’t until Obi-Wan arrived at the lek that he recognized what it was that he had been hearing.

The lekking arena was a flat, open area of land on the outskirts of the commune. Approximately fifty males were clustered together and singing. A somewhat smaller number of females, perhaps a third larger in body mass on average, were circulating with slow, deliberate decorum through the gathering. The normally boisterous Besalisks were, to a one, uncharacteristically serious and restrained. The fall of snow added a sense of unreality to the proceedings.

Obi-Wan approached a singing male at random, close enough to observe but maintaining what he adjudged to be a polite distance. The male stood as still as a statue. His throat sac was flushed with color, fully inflated, and vibrating, thereby amplifying the sound. When he aspirated, snowflakes danced around him in complex, hypnotic patterns. A few of the flakes stuck to Obi-Wan’s lips and melted into his mouth.

Besalisk snow song was nothing like Obi-Wan had imagined; there were no words set to melody or virtuoso runs of musical notes. Just a constant, basso hum. The pitch of the singing was so low, in fact, that he felt more than heard it—something between a buzz and a rumble that made him itch and tingle all over.

It was not an unpleasant sensation, but it quickly faded into the background of his consciousness as he moved closer to the center of the lek. A handful of pairs had begun courting. Obi-Wan watched a female approach a singing male. There was no communication or signal that he could discern, but somehow the male seemed to know she had chosen him. They began to dance, every ritualized movement mirrored and perfectly synchronized. It was, Obi-Wan realized as his heart leapt into his throat, a beautiful sight. And the entire time, the male never stopped his singing.

Eventually, the dancers, their arms intertwined, left the lekking arena to progress their courtship in, it could be presumed, greater privacy. Obi-Wan moved on, continuing to soak in all the sights and sounds. The longer he stayed to observe, the more power of the song seemed gradually to intensify, a vibration like a thousand beating insect wings concentrated low in his belly. Even in this frigid air, he was wonderfully warm.

Then he happened on a pair who, overcome with passion, had begun coupling right there on the snow-covered ground of the lekking arena. The male was on top of the female. Obi-Wan couldn’t tear his gaze away from the strong, shapely musculature of the male’s tawny back as it pulsed and gyrated in an ancient—and thoroughly alien—rhythm. This too was a beautiful sight, and he wondered what it would feel like to lay prostrate in ecstasy beneath a copulating Besalisk male…

Suddenly, that tingling, vibrating, _aching_ sensation he’d mostly been ignoring exploded, like his insides were overflowing with fizzy salt soda. He was hard. Oh, stars above, he was so hard.

But Obi-Wan didn’t want this particular male. Or any other male in the lek.

He wanted—

No, he _needed_ —

He was dizzy; his heart was racing; and he was teetering on the cliff edge of a violent, involuntary orgasm. As if at a remote distance from himself, Obi-Wan realized that the mewling whimpers he was hearing were issuing from his own mouth. Something was happening to him, and he was scared. He needed to get away from here. He needed help.

And now he was much too hot. Despite the cold and the snow, it was only with a supreme effort of will that he did not shed his robes as he began to run.

“Dex…” Obi-Wan moaned.


	3. Dex II

How strange. Obi-Wan had never been late for evening meal before. Not without notifying the guest house in advance, anyway.

Dex stirred the pot for what had to be the hundredth time. He had made Obi-Wan a stew with the leftover ground tarl. It was heavily spiced and had broken bits of giant legume (cheaper on the wholesale market than whole ones, but equally tasty) mixed in…and it was in imminent danger of overcooking. Dex extinguished the flame on the stove and placed a lid over the pot.

A Jedi ought to be able to take care of himself, surely? Still, he was worried.

Feeling rather at a loss, Dex wandered into the reception area of the guest house. His great uncle Riff was stationed idly behind the desk, watching an old holo of Mav taken a few months prior to her passing. She had been completely lucid to the end, even as her body failed all around her.

“—miss you so much, my snowflake. We all do,” Riff was saying softly to Mav’s blue-tinged holo. “How could you leave us behind?” He sniffled and wiped his eyes.

It was a private moment of grief that Dex had no intention of interrupting. Once a Besalisk finds his mate in the snow, only death can part them—he will never know another. At least Riff has his holos and many happy memories, Dex thought.

He padded quietly past the reception desk without acknowledging Riff and peered through the main entrance’s transparisteel doors. Outside, night had fallen. Although it was still snowing, the pathway that Dex had shoveled earlier in the day appeared to have stayed reasonably clear. It was difficult to see. Were there any human footprints…?

Behind him, Riff cleared his throat. “If you’re looking for the Jedi, Dex, he’s in his quarters.”

“What?!” Dex spun around.

“Returned hours ago. Seemed unwell, actually,” Riff said. He paused, contemplative, and then added, “He was in quite a hurry.”

Dex didn’t hear that last part; he had already raced back into the kitchen.

“Kinda like you are now,” Riff concluded to the empty reception area. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned back to his holo. “Unbelievable. Doncha think, Mav?”

***

Dex knocked. And waited. There was no reply. He tried again. Still no reply.

“Obi-Wan?” he called through the door to the Jedi’s sleeping quarters. “Are you hungry?”

There was a gasping, choked sound.

“Your meal is ready. I have it here with me. Would you like me to bring it in for you, or shall I leave it for you outside?”

Muffled moaning.

It was definitely Obi-Wan, but he couldn’t make out any words. Perhaps he had better check on the boy. He’d never forgive himself if Obi-Wan were unwell and he had simply left him to suffer.

“I’m going to come in, all right?” Dex counted to ten silently and then keyed the door open.

The sleeping quarters were in a traditional style—low-ceilinged, curved, cozy, and just large enough for two bedstands with storage underneath. To conserve heat on frigid Ojom, there were no windows and little ventilation. So when the door swished open, it was the _smell_ first and foremost which slammed into Dex with a force greater than that of a hunting tarl.

The room was positively saturated with the intoxicating smell of fertile Besalisk female, ripe and ready for mating, like, _yesterday_. No unmated male could possibly hope to resist such an enticing chemical summons for long. Dex’s nostrils were flaring even as, in horrified embarrassment, he began to backpedal out of the room. “E-excuse my interruption—”

An indistinct lump on one of the bedstands twisted and pushed the coverings down. A spiky-haired head emerged. It was Obi-Wan—and only Obi-Wan.

“D-dex? I-is t-that y-you?” he whimpered brokenly. He looked miserable; his eyelashes fluttered against fever-spotted cheeks.

Then, before Dex could even begin to formulate a response, and far faster than his senses could detect, Obi-Wan jumped out of bed and into his arms. Dex was so shocked he nearly dropped the evening meal tray. Obi-Wan was completely naked and radiating heat like a furnace, moaning and pressing into Dex’s body like he wanted to climb inside.

 _The smell_ — It wasn’t just in the room. It was on Obi-Wan too. No, it coming _from_ Obi-Wan.

Dex held the meal tray in his right upper hand, safely above their heads. Reflexively, his lower pair of arms wrapped around Obi-Wan. There was a wet mouth nibbling his shoulder; slender fingers kneaded the tender flesh beneath his armpits. Dex didn’t know how a human boy could possibly smell like a Besalisk female, but Obi-Wan’s multisensory assault was intensely arousing. His throat sac was fully flushed already, he knew, and his penile bulb was beginning to swell in response.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan stiffened and cried out, legs wobbling like a newhatcher as he clutched at his erection desperately and ejaculated into his hands. In so doing, he had released his hold on Dex, giving Dex the opportunity to gently maneuver Obi-Wan back onto his bedstand. It was almost too easy; the boy was limp, barely conscious.

What in Goddess’s name was happening?! Humans weren’t exactly a mystery to Dex, but he wasn’t an expert either, and this was totally beyond his ken. Maybe Qui-Gon would know what to do? But there would be no comm contact with Salrer and no possibility of the Jedi Master’s return until after the snowstorm passed. 

In the meantime…

Dex studied Obi-Wan anxiously. He was hot to the touch, and his lips were pale, dry, and chapped. His bedstand coverings were soaked through with sweat. He must be dehydrated, Dex decided. And feverish. And weak.

Ojom was cold and arid; untold millions of years of natural selection on their harsh homeworld meant Besalisks like Dex could go for many tendays without food or drink, and their bodies were properly insulated. Humans, conversely, must have evolved on a planet where they were spoiled by abundance; their bodies shed extravagant amounts of heat and moisture, assured that there would always be plenty more. As a Jedi, Obi-Wan may be puissant, but as a human, he was fragile. Vulnerable.

“You need to eat, little buddy,” Dex said, belatedly remembering the meal tray still in hand and putting it down beside the bedstand.

And I, Dex thought silently, need to leave you to it. He’d rather wanted to see whether Obi-Wan would be impressed by the hollowed out sourdough roll that Dex had made into a bowl for the savory meat stew. But the mating smell was, if possible, growing stronger; he was losing his grip on reality. It wasn’t _food_ Dex most wanted to fill the boy up with at the moment—

“C’mon,” Dex urged.

Obi-Wan stirred and, with a grunt of supreme effort, attempted to sit up. Unfortunately, he was trembling so violently that when he tried reaching for a spoon, it slipped from nerveless fingers and onto the floor with a clatter. With a frustrated sob, he fell back onto the bedstand.

Dex would have to feed him. There was no other choice. Obi-Wan _needed_ his help.

Tapping into reserves of patience and willpower he hadn’t known he possessed, Dex lifted Obi-Wan with his two left arms and, while holding the sweet-smelling boy upright, urged much needed food and drink into his mouth and down his throat.

It was difficult, painstaking work, and it took a long time. But slowly, ever so slowly, as the stew and the bread and the salt soda disappeared from the meal tray, Obi-Wan seemed to recover a measure of strength. Soon enough, he was purring with self-evident pleasure at the taste of Dex’s cooking, and crystalline blue eyes, trusting and bright, seemed to be gazing straight into Dex’s very soul.

At some point during the meal, Obi-Wan had recovered sufficiently to become sexually aroused again. He stroked his erection between the bites that Dex fed him, loose, silky skin sliding languidly back and forth over a glistening pink tip. He looked terribly soft and appealing and inviting, and he smelled _oh so damn good_ …

Dex convulsed with nigh-intolerable desire; he knew Obi-Wan knew he was watching. Goddess, the boy was beautiful! What would it be like to give himself to such a heavenly creature…? Perhaps sensing the substance of Dex’s thoughts, Obi-Wan canted his hips in Dex’s direction and began to stroke himself with more determination. A tiny dribble of gravy slipped from the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth as he arched and groaned with pleasure.

Automatically, as if Obi-Wan were his own chickling, Dex leaned forward and licked that tiny dribble away.

Big. Mistake.

The mating smell assaulted his nostrils as spice from the gravy and salt musk from Obi-Wan’s skin were like a burst of ambrosia on his tongue.

It was overwhelming. The mating urge was overwhelming. He’d been chosen, _and now he was helpless to resist._

Dex surrendered.

Delighted, Obi-Wan began to laugh—and then to moan.


	4. Obi-Wan II

Obi-Wan couldn’t quite recall how he had arrived at this point, but it didn’t matter.

All he knew was that he was going to be mated, and he was deliriously happy about it.

Dex’s body was a comforting weight atop his own, a cool balm against his own fevered flesh. They were chest to chest, caressing and clutching at each other, a confused jumble of limbs and hands overcome with excitement and stymied by inexperience, unsure—as of yet—quite how they were supposed to fit together. One of Dex’s giant hands was tangled up in Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid; Obi-Wan’s erection was grinding into a lovely patch of fluffy down just above Dex’s pubic bone…

Abruptly, that patch seemed to loosen and shift, and Obi-Wan felt himself enveloped into soft, yielding warmth. Feathery down tickled the sensitive skin of his belly and scrotum.

“W-what—?!” Obi-Wan stuttered.

“Goddess!” Dex gasped, pulling Obi-Wan in tighter. “Brood pouch— No one’s ever—”

Of course. Something, either the Force or simple logic, told Obi-Wan’s hazy consciousness the rest of what he wanted to know: Besalisk males like Dex incubate their eggs, and this is how they keep their brood warm. The brood pouch was protected, hidden beneath that thick thatch of down. No one has ever touched you there, Obi-Wan thought. I am the first, he realized with mingled tenderness and possessiveness.

Dex seemed to have arrived at a similar conclusion about Obi-Wan, for he shivered convulsively and began to gyrate his hips in a rhythm Obi-Wan recognized from the lovers in the snow. He nuzzled behind Obi-Wan’s ear, inhaling deeply, and two of his hands slid down Obi-Wan’s back. Obi-Wan opened his legs and groaned his encouragement. Thick, clawed fingers pried his buttocks apart and grazed the fluttering sphincter of his anus.

“Yeeesss…” Obi-Wan hissed. He canted his hips—an invitation. That movement thrust his penis deeper into Dex’s pouch, and he whimpered. Little droplets of fluid began to well up from the tip, further augmenting his pleasure.

Meanwhile, Dex’s two lower arms hooked behind Obi-Wan’s knees and lifted him into position. Dex’s penile bulb pushed into Obi-Wan. Dex groaned as delighted laughter spilled from Obi-Wan’s lips. There was no resistance and no pain; it was no bigger than his thumb.

But it would soon swell, he knew. And then—

And then Dex began to move, and Obi-Wan could focus on nothing else. It was not the back and forth, in and out thrust of a human; instead, it was a circular, looping motion that stretched and stimulated the ring of muscle it had penetrated with exquisite sweetness. Shivery bolts of electricity seemed to shoot up Obi-Wan’s spine. The very tips of his fingers and toes were tingling. He wrapped his own arms around Dex and held on.

Sure enough, the penile bulb began to swell. It grew thicker than a clew ball. And then a shuura fruit. Obi-Wan discovered that pinching Dex’s throat sac drove him mad. Their lovemaking intensified. Obi-Wan’s penis was throbbing and jerking and weeping fluid constantly. Dex’s penile bulb was bigger than Obi-Wan’s own fist, now, and it was starting to unfurl…

He’d been briefed on Besalisk reproductive physiology too—the clasping, the explosive lymphatic eversion, the prehensile organ of generation…

Obi-Wan was nervous.

Dex’s penile bulb twitched inside him. _Hard_.

“Please,” Obi-Wan whimpered. “I’m scared, Dex. Oh, stars, I’ve never done this before. Please don’t hurt me…”

Dex stilled. His gorgeous golden eyes, hugely dilated with his pleasure, seemed to encompass Obi-Wan’s entire universe. “No, no, don’t be afraid,” he murmured, caressing the top of Obi-Wan’s head, “I won’t hurt you, my snowflake, I would never, ever hurt you…”

Obi-Wan pressed a kiss against the corner of Dex’s mouth. Acknowledgement and acceptance. “Do it. Make me yours,” he said. No, commanded.

Dex cried out wordlessly as his hips juddered.

And then it happened. The penile bulb unfurled, and the Besalisk penis within shot out in a fast, spiraling motion that touched Obi-Wan everywhere, so deeply inside he thought he could feel it all the way into his _throat_. And the semen it ejaculated as it went felt effervescent, bright and soothing and—

Obi-Wan orgasmed, so violently, so powerfully, that his back arched and he screamed. It had never felt like this when he touched himself. The heat, the fever, the sheer _insanity_ of the past few hours poured out with the pulses of his semen, and it went on and on and on until, finally, Obi-Wan was thoroughly drained and calm.

They remained joined for a very long time afterwards, with Dex’s penis withdrawing from Obi-Wan only gradually. Obi-Wan reveled in the pleasant ache and feeling of fullness that it left behind, of the sticky wetness of his lover’s semen pushed up inside of him.

“I— Thank you,” Obi-Wan said at last. He didn’t know what else to say. The tips of his fingers danced wonderingly over Dex’s headcrest and combed through his feathery fringe.

“My snowflake,” Dex replied with rumbling affection as he wrapped all four of his arms around Obi-Wan. It was obvious that he never, _ever_ intended to let go.

Side by side they lay, each gazing into the other’s eyes, until the peaceful oblivion of sleep took them.

***

Later, Dex fed Obi-Wan a midnight snack in bed while finishing his harrowing tale of the Bothan spymaster. Later still, they became aroused and made love again. Come morning, they were making love for a third time, with Obi-Wan face down on the bed and Dex undulating above him with erotic urgency—exactly as he had been fantasizing during the snow song.

This was how Qui-Gon found them. The snowstorm had passed sometime during the night, and Qui-Gon, it seemed, had sensed Obi-Wan’s mysterious distress as a disturbance in the Force and caught the first shuttle back to Ojom’s surface.

“After you are finished, Padawan,” he said, eyebrows risen halfway to his hairline as he regarded the lovers in their decidedly compromising position, “I would like to have a word.”


	5. Dex III

Dex had keen ears. Although Obi-Wan and his Master were in the dining room and Dex was in the kitchen preparing the morning meal, he couldn’t help but hear every word that passed between them.

As always, Qui-Gon was implacably calm. “Whom you choose to take to your bed is your own affair, Padawan,” he was saying. “That is not the issue.”

Obi-Wan, by contrast, was all but seething. The hard heels of his boots clicked sharply against the flowstone floor as he paced back and forth. “Then what, exactly, _is_ the issue? I’m not a youngling anymore, Master!”

“Yet in your irresponsibility and selfishness, you are behaving like one. Must I insist that you be confined to quarters in order to reread the briefing materials for this mission?”

“I don’t—” Obi-Wan began.

“Evidently not.” Qui-Gon sighed, a remarkable outward manifestation of profound frustration. “The sections on Besalisk mating practices—”

“Were woefully short on specifics—”

“—were _unequivocal_ , Padawan,” Qui-Gon continued as if Obi-Wan had not interrupted at all. “Besalisks are monogamous; their first sexual partner becomes their mate for life. I do not see how I can make myself more clear: You have done your friend grievous injury. I am terribly disappointed in you.”  

There was a strangled sound.

Dex decided that he had heard more than quite enough. He stormed into the dining room where Qui-Gon was seated, his hands folded demurely into the long, loose sleeves of his brown robe, and Obi-Wan stood frozen, eyes wide and stricken, one hand clapped over his mouth.

“Obi-Wan is not to blame,” Dex declared, “and I am not some ignorant rube. Jedi don’t take life mates or even nesting mates— _I know that_. I’m not the nesting kind, anyway,” he said. It was what he’d told Riff yesterday. Had it only been yesterday? Good Goddess! Still, if he repeated it often enough, maybe it would become true…

“Nevertheless, Master Qui-Gon Jinn is right; it was irresponsible of me…” Obi-Wan whispered, staring down hard at his toes, desolate.

“We are not beasts, Obi-Wan. No one’s mating smell is irresistible. If I _chose_ not to resist, it is because you were desirable right from the start, my snowflake.” Dex wanted desperately to gather Obi-Wan into his arms, to comfort him and assure him of his love, but he worried that such behavior would embarrass the boy in front of Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan did look up at Dex, then, his eyes huge and round and shining like the dawning of a tentative new hope.

Dex flashed him a toothy grin.

Qui-Gon coughed. “What ‘mating smell’?” he asked.

***

“—discovered that Padawan Kenobi has a novel mutation at the FXR41 site of the eighth chromosome. FXR41 has known associations with chemoreceptivity, and comparisons with Besalisk genome profiles in the Archive are intriguing but as of yet inconclusive. I would hypothesize, however, that Padawan Kenobi’s evident sensitivity to microbial components used in Besalisk cuisine should have been taken as an early warning sign. And in any event, he must take care to avoid chemo-advertising Besalisk males in the future. The pheromone storm this stimulates in unmated Besalisk females can normally be alleviated exclusively by sexual intercourse with an unmated male. Padawan Kenobi was therefore incredibly fortunate; the fever associated with the mating urge would, if left unchecked, have undoubtedly ended his life.”

Qui-Gon switched off the holo-recording. The blue-tinged figure of the Mon Calamari Jedi Healer disappeared.

“I thought it important for you to hear the Healer’s explanation of her findings for yourself, Dex,” Qui-Gon said.

Dex wasn’t certain he fully understood the medical jargon the Healer had been spouting, but he did feel faintly guilty. It had never occurred to him to explain to Obi-Wan the reason why Besalisk males only sing when it snows: The moisture in the air is needed to transfer their pheromones effectively to the females. But then again, not even Qui-Gon would have recognized the danger this posed to Obi-Wan if he had.

“My young apprentice owes you his life,” Qui-Gon continued, “and your sacrifice came at considerable cost to yourself.”

“I—” Dex began.

Qui-Gon held up one hand. “No. It does not matter that you did not know his life was in danger. It does matter, however, that even if you have no desire to take a life mate now, should you have a change of heart in the future, that choice will have already been taken from you. As such, the Jedi High Council has empowered me to compensate you financially for your loss. I hope you will deem the amount sufficient.” Qui-Gon pulled out a datacube from one of the pouches on his utility belt.

“That’s not—”

“You should take it. It’s the least we can do,” Obi-Wan murmured, the first words he had uttered since Qui-Gon had cued up the Healer’s holo. He took one of Dex’s hands into both of his own and squeezed.

A long pause. Finally, Dex nodded and took the datacube from Qui-Gon.

When he saw the amount posted on the datacube, he nearly passed out cold.

***

The Jedi were about to depart Ojom.

“And where will you go next?” Dex asked.

“I have three straight lunar cycles of academic study at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant ahead of me,” Obi-Wan replied. “My Master says I need to learn more self-restraint too,” he added with humor and a rueful, sideways glance in Qui-Gon’s direction.

Dex laughed along with Obi-Wan at the joke and ruffled his hair. As always, Obi-Wan seemed to lean into his touch. Truly, they’d had a wonderful five tendays together after that first night, chock full of shared affection and food and intimate pleasures, but now the Republic negotiations with the Matriarch were concluded. Dex would miss this beautiful boy who could never have been his life mate. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

“There was something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Dex…” Obi-Wan said, suddenly oddly hesitant.

“Ask away.”

“So, erm… What does it mean when you call me ‘snowflake’?”

Oh. Dex swallowed.

“Well, of all the snowflakes that fall from the sky, no two are ever the same, you know? You’re born and you die, but in-between you will only ever find one beautiful, _fragile_ snowflake that’s perfect for you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were suddenly wet with unshed tears. He pressed a tender kiss into the corner of Dex’s mouth. Dex laughed and swept Obi-Wan into a big, back-slapping hug. The last thing he wanted was for him to feel badly—he had exciting news to share that he hoped would brighten his spirits.

“Anyways,” Dex said in a transparent attempt to change the subject, “what with all the credits you Jedi gave me, I was thinking maybe I’d take your advice and open a restaurant on Coruscant.” He had more than enough to set aside for Riff’s retirement as well. “I’ve been doing some research. How’s a diner in CoCo Town sound?”

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly. “CoCo Town is just a short speeder ride from the Temple!”

“Perfect. The burgers will always be on me.”

“Are you sure?” Obi-Wan’s tone of voice had turned cheerful, his demeanor unmistakably flirtatious. “I can eat a lot of burgers.” 

“That he can,” Qui-Gon grumbled under his breath from just outside the guest house’s front entrance.

“I’m counting on it,” Dex said.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> (Ch 1) I am not even going to try to be EU/Legends-compliant. I need as much creative wiggle room here as I can get!
> 
> (Ch 2) Background information on lek mating in the animal kingdom [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lek_mating). Certain species of birds, as well as bullfrogs, practice this sort of courtship behavior.
> 
> (Ch 3) Yes, Obi-Wan’s dinner was actually chili in a sourdough bread boule. ;-)
> 
> (Ch 4) Have you ever seen [a duck penis ejaculating](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwjEeI2SmiU)? It’s a bit like that…
> 
> (Ch 5) The “snowflake” thingie—so bittersweet. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed the story!


End file.
